I tried not to think about how easy it would be to slip a knife into someone’s back while hidden in a crowd. If this stalker was here, I knew they would want to confront me rather than remaining anonymous. As we made our way over to where the bonfire was safely cordoned off in one corner of the meadow, my eyes continually scanned the remaining few people wandering up to join the crowd. The villagers were waiting solemnly in an arc around the pile of wood about six feet high, and we deliberately positioned ourselves well away from Nora, typing away on her phone. Daniel, standing on the far side of the rope fence, waited for the last few stragglers before calling everyone to attention.
‘Good evening, good people of Ferrington!’
Everyone hooted and cheered.
‘I’d like to start by thanking you wholeheartedly for joining us on this historic day. I know how much it means for some of you to have come, given our history. For most of us, this is the first time we’ve attended a village event where all of us are welcome. I know that for those of you who remember the days before the feud, this is even harder. I’m so grateful that you’ve made the difficult choice to start healing the rift that’s blighted us for so long. I know this won’t be simple, or something that happens quickly, but together we took a step of faith in saying that it’s valuable enough to try.’
He walked over and took Hope from Billie’s arms, carrying her back to his original position. ‘We take this step in letting go of the past, not to diminish the hurt and the hardship that so many of us faced, but so that our children can have a better future.’
He might have had more to say, but there was no chance anyone would hear it. The roar of support and affirmation from the crowd was spontaneous, and heartfelt.
While the cheers continued, three men stepped forwards and set the bonfire alight. Daniel called Caris Smith and her four adult children forwards. They were each carrying a stick. Caris turned to face the onlookers, reading the word she’d written on her stick in a loud voice: ‘Loneliness.’ She threw the stick onto the flames.
Each of her children called out what they’d written on their branches:
‘Grief.’
‘Anger.’
‘Being broke.’
Into the flames they went.
One by one, various others stepped forwards with their sticks. They burned bitterness, hate and hunger. Sickness and sadness. Violence and vandalism. Hardship and loss. One person had written ‘self-service checkouts’, but we cheered them anyway.
When the last stick was ablaze, Frank and Eddie declared in a loud voice that the Ferrington Feud was officially dead. Some of the villagers embraced their neighbours from the other side of the river. Many of the men who had once pickaxed together deep below the ground held each other as they wept. Women who had once worried about their men together, shared gossip and advice and childrearing, until turning their backs on one another, gripped hands and began catching up on thirty-six missed years.
Not all of them. Some kept their distance, frowned and shifted uncomfortably but they were here, and that was an enormous step, to be celebrated not judged.
Daniel then called Becky forwards.
‘Crap!’ She glanced at me, holding tight to my hand. ‘I’m doing a speech.’
‘I’m not coming up there,’ I whispered, glancing over to where Nora was still engrossed in her phone.
Becky looked torn.
‘I’ll stand right here where you can see me. Look, Alice is just there. Go! I’ll be fine for two minutes.’
‘Three minutes and forty-five seconds.’
‘Go!’
It was Becky’s role to move our focus from the past onto the future. She spoke about the plans for the orchard, and the retreat, the opportunities to develop skills and forge relationships. She mentioned all those businesses and individuals who had helped get things off the ground, or promised their support in the future. She even floated an idea about converting the barn into a wedding and events venue, which had Daniel raising his eyebrows in my direction. I shrugged and managed a sort of smile. Maybe we would hold our wedding there one day.
As Becky ran through the list of people she wanted to thank, she then took a deep breath, lifted her chin and said, ‘I would like to finish by thanking Nora Sharp, the well-known food and event reviewer, for taking the time and trouble to come and visit our little festival. I do hope that having seen what Damson Day is all about, you’ll be able to write one of your inspirational, positive reviews!’ She paused then, thrown by the sneer on Nora’s face, before pressing on, voice now wavering. ‘Well. Either way, all publicity is good publicity, right?’
‘Let’s put it this way – it’ll be an honest write-up.’
Nora, to my surprise, stepped out of the crowd and went to stand by Becky. She allowed the stunned silence to linger, sharp eyes roaming over the shocked faces, until they stopped dead. On me.
‘Eleanor.’ She smiled. It felt as though the temperature suddenly plummeted about twenty degrees. ‘Finally decided to stop hiding from me?’ She waited for me to reply, but I couldn’t breathe, let alone speak. ‘I’m sure you’re all wondering why I bothered travelling over a hundred miles into the backside of nowhere, for a – and I’m being polite here because children are present – bog-standard little fete. I had a backstage pass for Take That at the O2 tonight. Why on earth would I come here? Well. I’m sure Eleanor Sharpley could explain perfectly.’
She thrust one pointed finger in my direction, which felt a little overdramatic, but that was Lucy for you. There was a collective hiss from the people around me. I think I swayed a little, but my head was numb so it was hard to tell.
‘Yes, up until January this year, I was Nora Sharp’s assistant. That Nora Sharp. I spent two years devoted to building her profile, curating her image, standing in for her at events and in the videos. Painstakingly planning her diary. Editing her reviews so that they are actually readable. Basically, doing it all while getting paid in a few cast-off clothes and leftovers.
‘And then, the moment my videos started outshining her sad little columns, she fired me. Via answerphone message. Oh, don’t look so surprised – what else would you expect from Nora? A generous redundancy package and a goodbye hug? She didn’t even write me a reference. Although I ended up not needing one, because the moment her editor knew I’d been dumped, he fired her and gave the real Nora the job.’
‘That still doesn’t explain why you’re here, or what that has to do with Damson Day!’ Alice, God bless her, called out. ‘This is about the Ferrington Feud, not whatever issues you happen to have going on with Eleanor.’
Nora went deathly still. I could feel the animosity of her stare boring through my head into the back of my skull. ‘I thought it only right that you knew what you were getting yourselves into. Eleanor Sharpley, Nora Sharp, whoever she’s pretending to be these days, didn’t just try to ruin my life, she’s destroyed countless others over the past few years. Don’t be fooled like I was. Once a lying, secretive, callous bitch who enjoys profiteering from other people’s misery… always the kind of woman who turns up on the doorstep of a supposed best friend – such great friends she hadn’t even realised she’s passed away! – and decides to profiteer from hijacking that friend’s dream! She’ll do anything for attention.’
‘That’s utter crap!’ Becky yelled, voice trembling as she turned to look at me, her expression pleading with me to deny the whole thing.
‘I think you’d better go,’ Luke said to Nora. I could barely hear him. It felt as though the bees had come back to life and burrowed into my brain.
I forced myself to drag my head up and find Daniel, standing off to one side with Hope, staring at me with a look of utter horror.
‘No.’ I don’t know how I managed to speak, but instantly everyone whipped their heads around to focus on me. ‘I’ll go.’
Before anyone could try to stop me – not that anyone did – I turned and ran.